We were discussing laptops this morning. Someone has got a new one. Is a little circumspect in using it. There are softwares to install. Network Access to obtain. Generally, let's give it a day and take things slow at first.
Someone has had it for a month now. The novelty is wearing off.
And this someone got his baby last year. It was my resignation gift to myself. Basically, I went on a bender one weekend. Bought my usual quota of books and the laptop. Used for an year. Battery could be better, but no complaints till it crashed some 20 days back.
Since it came back from the works, it was crashing every hour and making me quite perturbed. This is where we find ourselves this morning.
The mood is sombre, the lappy may have to go back again. I start discussing about my conversation with a guy in Varanasi. He had told me that all foreigners coming down to India generally had Apple MacBooks. They did not even allow the Indian technicians to touch the IP addresses. All they needed was to get the dust cleaned out once they had their fill of the ghats.
We are now in Apple territory. I am bugged with the OS crashing. Have heard the Leopard is very reliable.
And then big boom: "Dude! I have used the MacBook once. It is better than having sex." Both experiences need be taken with a pinch of salt. Both are essentially unverifiable.
P.S. I am more certain about the MacBook. Offence is meant but coincidental.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Elvis Is Leaving... And I Don't Feel Too Good Myself.
Dear Suhas,
Here's wishing you all the luck and success for the MBA. Toronto here I come!
It really is a pain in the wrong place to know that I would not be able to prevent you from the ogling eyes of the fairer sex at the airport on Thursday.
So I guess your growing up must begin from there! We are locked up at 11 for our own benefit, and this week getting out for a last bender may not be possible.
Especially, since I am in BC mode and you are quitting the carcinogenic stick of joy.
Infosys being tough as it was, at least we had your excellent culinary skills to tide us through some very frequently sapping days and months. Discussions on cricket may get less frequent with time. That's more to do with the occupational hazard of MBA that we are undertaking.
I would like to place on record my appreciation for your efforts in slandering, tanking and finally annihilating my efforts to form a sustainable and durable relationship ("Do I hear some sniggers, Infoscions ?") with a mutual acquaintance who was a terrific "C" teacher.
Your help was invaluable in making me realise that I was meant only to slog 14 hours per day and have no social life and that my choice was the same as at least 50 "romantics" that rolled off the Infosys conveyer belt every 15 days. As things turned out, you were right. Thanks for making me realise the error of my ways.
For the record, I extended you the same courtesy (wink!) and Sanath, Thatha, Gun, G K, Jacob and Y Man had a great time during our repartees!
I think I embarassed you almost as much with "you know who".
Jokes apart, the time is now. The best is yet to come. Have a safe flight. Make it uneventful. I have my eyes in the sky.
No drugs, sex and rock_n_roll for three years. ( I can feel the abuse mate!)
Let's meet again soon. If it takes the whole three years, then so be it.
On second thoughts, it would be weird meeting again in the future with our respective ladies in tow. The one with the kid on the way would be adjudged the winner. After I claim the medallion, we would both burst out laughing.
You are almost the only person in the world to whom I would happily concede that Capo Di Tutti Capi SHANE WARNE is not the greatest cricketer of his generation. And that the little master ( read, SHORT LITTLE PRICK) is really the man.
Enjoy the summit when it comes in the coming series. You deserve it.
And before we must necessarily go our ways for some time, sample what Morpheus tells Neo in the Matrix Revolutions.
"The honour was always mine."
Farewell my brother, until we meet again.
Here's wishing you all the luck and success for the MBA. Toronto here I come!
It really is a pain in the wrong place to know that I would not be able to prevent you from the ogling eyes of the fairer sex at the airport on Thursday.
So I guess your growing up must begin from there! We are locked up at 11 for our own benefit, and this week getting out for a last bender may not be possible.
Especially, since I am in BC mode and you are quitting the carcinogenic stick of joy.
Infosys being tough as it was, at least we had your excellent culinary skills to tide us through some very frequently sapping days and months. Discussions on cricket may get less frequent with time. That's more to do with the occupational hazard of MBA that we are undertaking.
I would like to place on record my appreciation for your efforts in slandering, tanking and finally annihilating my efforts to form a sustainable and durable relationship ("Do I hear some sniggers, Infoscions ?") with a mutual acquaintance who was a terrific "C" teacher.
Your help was invaluable in making me realise that I was meant only to slog 14 hours per day and have no social life and that my choice was the same as at least 50 "romantics" that rolled off the Infosys conveyer belt every 15 days. As things turned out, you were right. Thanks for making me realise the error of my ways.
For the record, I extended you the same courtesy (wink!) and Sanath, Thatha, Gun, G K, Jacob and Y Man had a great time during our repartees!
I think I embarassed you almost as much with "you know who".
Jokes apart, the time is now. The best is yet to come. Have a safe flight. Make it uneventful. I have my eyes in the sky.
No drugs, sex and rock_n_roll for three years. ( I can feel the abuse mate!)
Let's meet again soon. If it takes the whole three years, then so be it.
On second thoughts, it would be weird meeting again in the future with our respective ladies in tow. The one with the kid on the way would be adjudged the winner. After I claim the medallion, we would both burst out laughing.
You are almost the only person in the world to whom I would happily concede that Capo Di Tutti Capi SHANE WARNE is not the greatest cricketer of his generation. And that the little master ( read, SHORT LITTLE PRICK) is really the man.
Enjoy the summit when it comes in the coming series. You deserve it.
And before we must necessarily go our ways for some time, sample what Morpheus tells Neo in the Matrix Revolutions.
"The honour was always mine."
Farewell my brother, until we meet again.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Jodie Foster, Drunken Night And The Peculiar Case Of Scarlett Keeling
I recently cleaned out my closet. No, not the Eminem way.
The keys to the almirah came across and I finally decided that living out of a suitcase was not all it was made out to be.
If you are a lounge lizard, minus the lounge these days, then you need some working order to your sorroundings. And a big tourister sitting on the table hardly provides that perspective.
Out came the key, the old newspapers, old folders etc. They were then consigned to the annals of trash, more fresh newspapers came out to be put inside.
And then I saw it.
Fiona Keeling had approached the media in Goa claiming her daughter had been killed after being raped. Influential people were behind the crime. The insensitive, with whom I share identities sometimes, would have called it Aarushi Gone Hollywood. I digress though.
My mind went back to a bachchanalian get together. There were four or five of us coming back after a long week in the office via our favourite watering hole. I am among those who have reverted to a BC period in life, (Before Cheers!) after experiencing the many crests of AD.(After Drinks)
That night was very firmly autumn 2006 AD. This Joe we were walking back with pipes up. "Dude, I got this really amazing movie with me. You remember Clarice ? Well She's done this movie 'Accused'. You won't believe the R action man!! "
Our collective receptors perk up. Hmmm, considering the cake the week had been, what the heck, lets have some icing. With renewed purpose, and better navigation, we reached home in twenty minutes. Brisk walk. Adrenaline pumping. Jodie Foster! who would have thought!
Jumpers etc. are consigned to the drawing room. The blinds are drawn. The landlady may not sympathize at this (or any other, for that matter) hour. We are in no mood for chances. There is a little brandy about the house. I ask for coffee. I am booed. What the heck, I 'll have a small. (As it is, I am not going to office before 4 PM tomorrow. Hopefully, not work, catch a weekend flick and skip work altogether.)
The movie begins. We are not very keyed in. Then Jodie Foster baits someone in the casino. We are expectant. We are also growling. She taunts a patron into the act. Suddenly, more people violate her. It is now frenzied. Sick spectators egging the perpetrators on. I don't exactly remember, except that caution was thrown to the winds and the landlady entirely forgotten. There are loud claps in the drawing room, we feel light. Some of the guys are now lurching out.
The goodbyes are dispensed with. Lets not see each other tomorrow, for a change! I come back, there is a mirror in the bath. My eyes are clear, with a few red lines. I hold my hand out. It looks steady. I turn. My head swims. Very slightly, says my ego.
I tidy up, as best as possible. The DVD is still in suspended animation. I consider my options. The light cannot be turned on. I can't read. I can't sleep. I sit down to watch the movie. It turns uncomfortably serious. I feel a little guilty now. I sleep sometime before the court scene.
The next day, I wake up at 9. Th others are still asleep. I move out. A hot bath. Then a cold one, once the hot water runs out. Tea. The paper. The balcony railing. The day is good. My stomach is quesy. I think I need breakfast. Burnt toast never tasted bitter better.
A peculiar thing happens. I remember nothing of the evening, the get together, the talk, food... Its all gone. I am trying to block out the image of the spectators cheering.
2008 BC. G S nudges me in 47/48 from 5 1/2 feet. "Kahaan ho bandhu? "
I look at the Hindu. Julio Lobo, I think that's the name, is just a front. There are some others. Fiona Keeling is a bad mother. Or maybe. Scarlett Keeling may have been ill - advised to follow the path that lead to her demise. Or maybe.
The image of the spectators comes back very fleetingly.
A girl of 15 has been raped and killed. It is said there were eyewitnesses.We could focus on her failings later. But we owe the girl a decent investigation. Or so I Guess.
But then, like I said before, I am sometimes smart in a dumb sort of way. Goodbye, little Scarlett. Sorry for the bother.
The keys to the almirah came across and I finally decided that living out of a suitcase was not all it was made out to be.
If you are a lounge lizard, minus the lounge these days, then you need some working order to your sorroundings. And a big tourister sitting on the table hardly provides that perspective.
Out came the key, the old newspapers, old folders etc. They were then consigned to the annals of trash, more fresh newspapers came out to be put inside.
And then I saw it.
Fiona Keeling had approached the media in Goa claiming her daughter had been killed after being raped. Influential people were behind the crime. The insensitive, with whom I share identities sometimes, would have called it Aarushi Gone Hollywood. I digress though.
My mind went back to a bachchanalian get together. There were four or five of us coming back after a long week in the office via our favourite watering hole. I am among those who have reverted to a BC period in life, (Before Cheers!) after experiencing the many crests of AD.(After Drinks)
That night was very firmly autumn 2006 AD. This Joe we were walking back with pipes up. "Dude, I got this really amazing movie with me. You remember Clarice ? Well She's done this movie 'Accused'. You won't believe the R action man!! "
Our collective receptors perk up. Hmmm, considering the cake the week had been, what the heck, lets have some icing. With renewed purpose, and better navigation, we reached home in twenty minutes. Brisk walk. Adrenaline pumping. Jodie Foster! who would have thought!
Jumpers etc. are consigned to the drawing room. The blinds are drawn. The landlady may not sympathize at this (or any other, for that matter) hour. We are in no mood for chances. There is a little brandy about the house. I ask for coffee. I am booed. What the heck, I 'll have a small. (As it is, I am not going to office before 4 PM tomorrow. Hopefully, not work, catch a weekend flick and skip work altogether.)
The movie begins. We are not very keyed in. Then Jodie Foster baits someone in the casino. We are expectant. We are also growling. She taunts a patron into the act. Suddenly, more people violate her. It is now frenzied. Sick spectators egging the perpetrators on. I don't exactly remember, except that caution was thrown to the winds and the landlady entirely forgotten. There are loud claps in the drawing room, we feel light. Some of the guys are now lurching out.
The goodbyes are dispensed with. Lets not see each other tomorrow, for a change! I come back, there is a mirror in the bath. My eyes are clear, with a few red lines. I hold my hand out. It looks steady. I turn. My head swims. Very slightly, says my ego.
I tidy up, as best as possible. The DVD is still in suspended animation. I consider my options. The light cannot be turned on. I can't read. I can't sleep. I sit down to watch the movie. It turns uncomfortably serious. I feel a little guilty now. I sleep sometime before the court scene.
The next day, I wake up at 9. Th others are still asleep. I move out. A hot bath. Then a cold one, once the hot water runs out. Tea. The paper. The balcony railing. The day is good. My stomach is quesy. I think I need breakfast. Burnt toast never tasted bitter better.
A peculiar thing happens. I remember nothing of the evening, the get together, the talk, food... Its all gone. I am trying to block out the image of the spectators cheering.
2008 BC. G S nudges me in 47/48 from 5 1/2 feet. "Kahaan ho bandhu? "
I look at the Hindu. Julio Lobo, I think that's the name, is just a front. There are some others. Fiona Keeling is a bad mother. Or maybe. Scarlett Keeling may have been ill - advised to follow the path that lead to her demise. Or maybe.
The image of the spectators comes back very fleetingly.
A girl of 15 has been raped and killed. It is said there were eyewitnesses.We could focus on her failings later. But we owe the girl a decent investigation. Or so I Guess.
But then, like I said before, I am sometimes smart in a dumb sort of way. Goodbye, little Scarlett. Sorry for the bother.
The Birth Of An Embarassment.
I have just finished with the Jodie Foster thing above. I am cooked. Guilty as hell. I am actually in no further mood for self flagellation! Writing for leisure can sometimes turn serious. Back to Future/Present value of money. There are tables to understand, annuities to be worked out.
I am actually this really good, clean, presentable, regular, average guy who likes a good laugh and tries to make a favourable impression. Also, this guy who joins clubs, goes to class and always tries to listen and keep his mouth shut.
I am also learning names very quickly. Must keep this space like this!Pakka!
I am actually this really good, clean, presentable, regular, average guy who likes a good laugh and tries to make a favourable impression. Also, this guy who joins clubs, goes to class and always tries to listen and keep his mouth shut.
I am also learning names very quickly. Must keep this space like this!Pakka!
Sunday, July 13, 2008
When the tailgate drops... the bullshit stops!
We had our first club meet today.
XYZ is the "in" thing. This is serious stuff. And I am serious about it.
So were countless others when we signed on the dotted line. Money changed palms. The process was kickstarted. The "oven" as it was fondly called during the introductory sessions has now become this pleasant place with the occasional breeze where you no longer had to look for an escape route and find none.
I am sitting with a bunch of seriously funny people. They are honest to goodness cusses who want a good time and a boring guy to make the time better.
The meeting appears to have started. The characters are droning their parts and enacting the same inanities that we discussed last week. Only the language for some reason has become more obscure. "Upstream" and "downstream" are now in. My idea about them is foggy but I am confident if you shit upstream and pollute the pond, some -unlucky-downstream- recipient would remember the ladies of your family on broad artistic lines and take liberties on varied sexual variants where he would protray the male protagonist.
I am not very bright so I keep my mouth shut. I am also smart in a dumb sort of way so I do not volunteer. For anything.
More droning ensues and power corp after software giant is saved from doom or redeemed by a knight in shining armour and carrying a laptop.
The guys around me are rocking big time. I have not heard better innuendo in a long time. Long live punjabi. It is god's gift to those who need more to self express.
For many years now I have cussed exclusively in English. It sounds great to hear it all in Hindi/Punjabi. I am having a good time. It is returning home in many ways. Must make it a point to encourage all my friends to give up their deviant western ways and re-embrace the mother tongue. "You m*************r never sounded as rounded and homely as the home grown "teri ma ki..."
1:15 AM XYZ is sounding as alive as a dead corpse taking a loo break. A killjoy I can safely say.
1:20 AM We are winding up now. The guys around me have given me great entertainment. Can't say the same about those who inadvertently invited me for the show though.
XYZ is the "in" thing. This is serious stuff. And I am serious about it.
So were countless others when we signed on the dotted line. Money changed palms. The process was kickstarted. The "oven" as it was fondly called during the introductory sessions has now become this pleasant place with the occasional breeze where you no longer had to look for an escape route and find none.
I am sitting with a bunch of seriously funny people. They are honest to goodness cusses who want a good time and a boring guy to make the time better.
The meeting appears to have started. The characters are droning their parts and enacting the same inanities that we discussed last week. Only the language for some reason has become more obscure. "Upstream" and "downstream" are now in. My idea about them is foggy but I am confident if you shit upstream and pollute the pond, some -unlucky-downstream- recipient would remember the ladies of your family on broad artistic lines and take liberties on varied sexual variants where he would protray the male protagonist.
I am not very bright so I keep my mouth shut. I am also smart in a dumb sort of way so I do not volunteer. For anything.
More droning ensues and power corp after software giant is saved from doom or redeemed by a knight in shining armour and carrying a laptop.
The guys around me are rocking big time. I have not heard better innuendo in a long time. Long live punjabi. It is god's gift to those who need more to self express.
For many years now I have cussed exclusively in English. It sounds great to hear it all in Hindi/Punjabi. I am having a good time. It is returning home in many ways. Must make it a point to encourage all my friends to give up their deviant western ways and re-embrace the mother tongue. "You m*************r never sounded as rounded and homely as the home grown "teri ma ki..."
1:15 AM XYZ is sounding as alive as a dead corpse taking a loo break. A killjoy I can safely say.
1:20 AM We are winding up now. The guys around me have given me great entertainment. Can't say the same about those who inadvertently invited me for the show though.
Heard In Passing: "Belts Are For BDSM"
Our personality is now collectively developed. All Girls at ABCD are now my sisters! Jokes apart "detente", "egalite"and "harmony" are the new "in" words.
Tomorrow is freshers night. There is a beer guzzling competition as well. As a gracefully retired practitioner, I would look at my feelings with some interest.
Teams of five would form a group. In the days long gone by, which I remember with some hazy embarassment, there was many a lurch outside many a pub...
A bar of butter before the deed would do a world of good. Old trade secret. Piss it out. Another survival secret. And by no means, pass your mobile to ladies when you intend to pass your mobile number.
A close friend of mine, hopefully you would read this, would heartily agree.
I think I would stick to coke though. ... Old wine best to drink.... must stop the mind from traversing skiddy trajectories.
And before we close: big boom: "Belt kis liye hota hai ?" Sotto Voce: "BDSM ke liye"
Tomorrow is freshers night. There is a beer guzzling competition as well. As a gracefully retired practitioner, I would look at my feelings with some interest.
Teams of five would form a group. In the days long gone by, which I remember with some hazy embarassment, there was many a lurch outside many a pub...
A bar of butter before the deed would do a world of good. Old trade secret. Piss it out. Another survival secret. And by no means, pass your mobile to ladies when you intend to pass your mobile number.
A close friend of mine, hopefully you would read this, would heartily agree.
I think I would stick to coke though. ... Old wine best to drink.... must stop the mind from traversing skiddy trajectories.
And before we close: big boom: "Belt kis liye hota hai ?" Sotto Voce: "BDSM ke liye"
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
NYT's Choco Chip Cookies' Recipe ... Yum
Recipe
Chocolate Chip Cookies
Time: 45 minutes (for 1 6-cookie batch), plus at least 24 hours’ chilling
2 cups minus 2 tablespoons
(8 1/2 ounces) cake flour
1 2/3 cups (8 1/2 ounces) bread flour
1 1/4 teaspoons baking soda
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 1/2 teaspoons coarse salt
2 1/2 sticks (1 1/4 cups) unsalted butter
1 1/4 cups (10 ounces) light brown sugar
1 cup plus 2 tablespoons (8 ounces) granulated sugar
2 large eggs
2 teaspoons natural vanilla extract
1 1/4 pounds bittersweet chocolate disks or fèves, at least 60 percent cacao content (see note)
Sea salt.
1. Sift flours, baking soda, baking powder and salt into a bowl. Set aside.
2. Using a mixer fitted with paddle attachment, cream butter and sugars together until very light, about 5 minutes. Add eggs, one at a time, mixing well after each addition. Stir in the vanilla. Reduce speed to low, add dry ingredients and mix until just combined, 5 to 10 seconds. Drop chocolate pieces in and incorporate them without breaking them. Press plastic wrap against dough and refrigerate for 24 to 36 hours. Dough may be used in batches, and can be refrigerated for up to 72 hours.
3. When ready to bake, preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper or a nonstick baking mat. Set aside.
4. Scoop 6 3 1/2-ounce mounds of dough (the size of generous golf balls) onto baking sheet, making sure to turn horizontally any chocolate pieces that are poking up; it will make for a more attractive cookie. Sprinkle lightly with sea salt and bake until golden brown but still soft, 18 to 20 minutes. Transfer sheet to a wire rack for 10 minutes, then slip cookies onto another rack to cool a bit more. Repeat with remaining dough, or reserve dough, refrigerated, for baking remaining batches the next day. Eat warm, with a big napkin.
Yield: 1 1/2 dozen 5-inch cookies.
Note: Disks are sold at Jacques Torres Chocolate; Valrhona fèves, oval-shaped chocolate pieces, are at Whole Foods.
Chocolate Chip Cookies
Time: 45 minutes (for 1 6-cookie batch), plus at least 24 hours’ chilling
2 cups minus 2 tablespoons
(8 1/2 ounces) cake flour
1 2/3 cups (8 1/2 ounces) bread flour
1 1/4 teaspoons baking soda
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 1/2 teaspoons coarse salt
2 1/2 sticks (1 1/4 cups) unsalted butter
1 1/4 cups (10 ounces) light brown sugar
1 cup plus 2 tablespoons (8 ounces) granulated sugar
2 large eggs
2 teaspoons natural vanilla extract
1 1/4 pounds bittersweet chocolate disks or fèves, at least 60 percent cacao content (see note)
Sea salt.
1. Sift flours, baking soda, baking powder and salt into a bowl. Set aside.
2. Using a mixer fitted with paddle attachment, cream butter and sugars together until very light, about 5 minutes. Add eggs, one at a time, mixing well after each addition. Stir in the vanilla. Reduce speed to low, add dry ingredients and mix until just combined, 5 to 10 seconds. Drop chocolate pieces in and incorporate them without breaking them. Press plastic wrap against dough and refrigerate for 24 to 36 hours. Dough may be used in batches, and can be refrigerated for up to 72 hours.
3. When ready to bake, preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper or a nonstick baking mat. Set aside.
4. Scoop 6 3 1/2-ounce mounds of dough (the size of generous golf balls) onto baking sheet, making sure to turn horizontally any chocolate pieces that are poking up; it will make for a more attractive cookie. Sprinkle lightly with sea salt and bake until golden brown but still soft, 18 to 20 minutes. Transfer sheet to a wire rack for 10 minutes, then slip cookies onto another rack to cool a bit more. Repeat with remaining dough, or reserve dough, refrigerated, for baking remaining batches the next day. Eat warm, with a big napkin.
Yield: 1 1/2 dozen 5-inch cookies.
Note: Disks are sold at Jacques Torres Chocolate; Valrhona fèves, oval-shaped chocolate pieces, are at Whole Foods.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
And Now Comes The Delhi Belly... Fortuitous. But Has It Really Happened ?
"The first rule of the fight club is..... " Remember Tyler giving us the rules in Lou's Tavern ?
Every disenchanted man's guide to rebellion against the establishment,hospital, carwash or the office as the case may be ?
More on that iconic discourse later. (When I am in one of those moods which have mercifully not visited me since my days as a cyber c _ _ lie got over.)
Ahem,.... I digress.
Well the first rule of ABCD is ... Hang on, we start from -1 here.
"Rule No. -1: A Senior Is A Senior Is A Senior! (120 db, or else you are here forever)
Rule No. 0: All girls at ABCD are my sisters!
Rule No. 1: I have not come to ABCD for placements!
Tyler gave 8, we got [-1,0,1].
Unlike in the tavern, where we fought till we felt saved and told the boss "I fell down some stairs", things here are rather pleasant. There is a govering body with five people with diverse backgrounds and duties. They do very important stuff. And then some more diverse bodies that function under the umbrella and do more important stuff.
Some are high on mo-jo, some maybe a little less so. There are all types, the regimental sargeant-major type whose voice might rip you a new hole, a couple of toughies who lurk menacingly and peer into the the huddled, worried, cross - legged mass on stage from terra firma, the silent knights who move decisively and nail their quarry - "give me the names of all your batchmates, all committee members of the super body, the umbrella bodies, the guys over here, there; entire background on our "boss", the inside scoop on your "buddy" from the senior batch, his likes, dislikes and major and major embarassments over the last one year etc etc.
It worries, but once you get out you feel the cool rush of the hot humid delhi air engulf you and for a couple of seconds your sweat from the session dries off.
The we tab back to the mess, where rules mean we eat our meals in formals. All three of them. Then if your luck is not out, which is once a week when the water in the tank runs out, you have a cold bath.
The shirts and shoes go. My roommates and I are in a tearing rush. Socks. Shoes. Belts. All Follow.
The balcony door cannot be opened because the flies would come in. It has just rained yesterday. Those wretches feel like fornicating and having a good time too. Can't blame them. There is a real danger their kids might exact their pound of flesh. The very next night.
Esp. near the eye. Harish has a love bite from them. He forgot to swat the sucker who took a rather long lick.
Giri's back is gone for all practical purposes. He played an hour of volleyball, as part of a batch video depicting life at ABCD. The clock did turn back, but the back, alas, did also turn.
Harihar and Gaurav are medically ok but a little peaked. We all are. G S has managed to wriggle out; more power to you mate!
And this brings the focus well and truly back onto me.
I have the Delhi Belly. The dreaded scourge of the pakka sahibs from our collective colonial past. It means that tonight's gruel may not be brought by a flaxen haired beauty, but to put not too fine a point to it, necessarily be biscuits. G S is concerned. There is a litre and a half of squash below the bed. We are all swigging.
The others have left; so must I.
Every disenchanted man's guide to rebellion against the establishment,hospital, carwash or the office as the case may be ?
More on that iconic discourse later. (When I am in one of those moods which have mercifully not visited me since my days as a cyber c _ _ lie got over.)
Ahem,.... I digress.
Well the first rule of ABCD is ... Hang on, we start from -1 here.
"Rule No. -1: A Senior Is A Senior Is A Senior! (120 db, or else you are here forever)
Rule No. 0: All girls at ABCD are my sisters!
Rule No. 1: I have not come to ABCD for placements!
Tyler gave 8, we got [-1,0,1].
Unlike in the tavern, where we fought till we felt saved and told the boss "I fell down some stairs", things here are rather pleasant. There is a govering body with five people with diverse backgrounds and duties. They do very important stuff. And then some more diverse bodies that function under the umbrella and do more important stuff.
Some are high on mo-jo, some maybe a little less so. There are all types, the regimental sargeant-major type whose voice might rip you a new hole, a couple of toughies who lurk menacingly and peer into the the huddled, worried, cross - legged mass on stage from terra firma, the silent knights who move decisively and nail their quarry - "give me the names of all your batchmates, all committee members of the super body, the umbrella bodies, the guys over here, there; entire background on our "boss", the inside scoop on your "buddy" from the senior batch, his likes, dislikes and major and major embarassments over the last one year etc etc.
It worries, but once you get out you feel the cool rush of the hot humid delhi air engulf you and for a couple of seconds your sweat from the session dries off.
The we tab back to the mess, where rules mean we eat our meals in formals. All three of them. Then if your luck is not out, which is once a week when the water in the tank runs out, you have a cold bath.
The shirts and shoes go. My roommates and I are in a tearing rush. Socks. Shoes. Belts. All Follow.
The balcony door cannot be opened because the flies would come in. It has just rained yesterday. Those wretches feel like fornicating and having a good time too. Can't blame them. There is a real danger their kids might exact their pound of flesh. The very next night.
Esp. near the eye. Harish has a love bite from them. He forgot to swat the sucker who took a rather long lick.
Giri's back is gone for all practical purposes. He played an hour of volleyball, as part of a batch video depicting life at ABCD. The clock did turn back, but the back, alas, did also turn.
Harihar and Gaurav are medically ok but a little peaked. We all are. G S has managed to wriggle out; more power to you mate!
And this brings the focus well and truly back onto me.
I have the Delhi Belly. The dreaded scourge of the pakka sahibs from our collective colonial past. It means that tonight's gruel may not be brought by a flaxen haired beauty, but to put not too fine a point to it, necessarily be biscuits. G S is concerned. There is a litre and a half of squash below the bed. We are all swigging.
The others have left; so must I.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
A Programme Called "Hawas"
... As part of effective communication, and breaking down of barriers which must not exist in a B- School, a programme called "Hawas" is designed.
Volunteers, all men, in the name of classic Hindu, benign Judeao- Christianity, pristine Islam and valorous Sikhism get together and present a semi peep/raunch show.
Hindi item number songs are presented. Some moves vacillate between the "item" and the old B- Grade "softie" ( remember the ones you get when you were a teenager, when more vistas were sadly unopen ?)
... The moves are becoming bolder, there are howls.. Some men are embarassed, some snicker.. Ladies have their eyes averted, till they decide "what the heck!"
The aisles are rolling, the program is now reaching its pinnacle. Not much being left to the imagination.
There is some complex medical science behind this. Unabated work and face fatigue, a body clock that no longer winds and some more time left before the course finishes perhaps... all combine to kill of certain sections of your brain that slowly begin to convert you into a neanderthal.
Only certain visual stimulus can kick start the motor back again, recharge those cells and return the mo - jo. Therefore, maybe, "Hawas".
Source ~ Jane's Primate's Intelligence Review.
P.S. The course has succeeded in its objective, both years are now happy.
Volunteers, all men, in the name of classic Hindu, benign Judeao- Christianity, pristine Islam and valorous Sikhism get together and present a semi peep/raunch show.
Hindi item number songs are presented. Some moves vacillate between the "item" and the old B- Grade "softie" ( remember the ones you get when you were a teenager, when more vistas were sadly unopen ?)
... The moves are becoming bolder, there are howls.. Some men are embarassed, some snicker.. Ladies have their eyes averted, till they decide "what the heck!"
The aisles are rolling, the program is now reaching its pinnacle. Not much being left to the imagination.
There is some complex medical science behind this. Unabated work and face fatigue, a body clock that no longer winds and some more time left before the course finishes perhaps... all combine to kill of certain sections of your brain that slowly begin to convert you into a neanderthal.
Only certain visual stimulus can kick start the motor back again, recharge those cells and return the mo - jo. Therefore, maybe, "Hawas".
Source ~ Jane's Primate's Intelligence Review.
P.S. The course has succeeded in its objective, both years are now happy.
....And Then There Was PDP
A noble virtuous idea, to make me meet and know my new batchmates.
But I forget more names than I remember, so that makes me it 3 names forgotten for every 5 names heard.
The harder you try, the more difficult it gets. Sounds more like a sex therapist talking!
I might be on today, massive kidology expected.
On a long enough timeline, the survivial rate for everything falls down to zero.
But I forget more names than I remember, so that makes me it 3 names forgotten for every 5 names heard.
The harder you try, the more difficult it gets. Sounds more like a sex therapist talking!
I might be on today, massive kidology expected.
On a long enough timeline, the survivial rate for everything falls down to zero.
Saturday, July 5, 2008
So Far So Good...
...But no effin' rain...
You sleep at 1, you sleep at 4,
You wake up in sweat,
The pleasure starts all over again.
Rain gods must be harassed these days, but there is beautiful weather in Bangalore and home!
You sleep at 1, you sleep at 4,
You wake up in sweat,
The pleasure starts all over again.
Rain gods must be harassed these days, but there is beautiful weather in Bangalore and home!
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